


And on the Way I Lost It

by climaxitis (orphan_account)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: First Impressions, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/climaxitis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waiting for someone at the airport.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And on the Way I Lost It

_17/23_

* * *

Her subsequent recollections of their first meeting sometimes leads Evangeline to believe it happens at the edge of winter, instead of the middle of summer like it really does. The airport is bustling and packed with too many people in motion, their collective voices blurring into constant, indistinct murmurs, roaming the halls and filling every vacant space in a way she feels is unbearably stifling. In this time of year, the weather is more obnoxious than ever, and even wearing her breeziest sundress, it’s a struggle not to let the heat get to her. There’s barely any wind today, and the fact she’s remembered to bring her handkerchief only offers the barest sliver of consolation.

Patience has always been one of her virtues, though she doesn’t boast, but the combination of unending humidity and the crowd’s relentless chatter eventually chips at her self-restraint enough to make her spare the occasional glance to the overhead electronic panel displaying the time in black and red. It’s a juvenile thing to do, but unlike usual, she has an excuse. Wolf returning after months of leave is as much cause for celebration as it is for petty impatience.

She’s learned that letter correspondence doesn’t take too long before it becomes inadequate. It’s more likely that she’d find whatever she was writing about to him trifling and unimportant rather than if she’d said them. She might regret speaking out, later, when it’s late and her flushed face is buried under the covers, but it’s a preferable feeling to shoulder the burden of than the urge to say something at all gnawing mercilessly at her until she eventually caves under it.

There’s something about seeing her own words being scrawled in pen all over the paper, though – something about rereading paragraphs going about the weather or the view of the buildings over the balcony of her room or whatever it was she thought was worth mentioning to him – that makes her feel an unmistakable sense of childishness and embarrassment severe enough to crumple the letter into a ball and toss it into the waste bin and start again, determined to try and emulate a level of maturity far surpassing her physical age.

Over the past few months she’s amassed a lengthy inventory of things she chooses to leave out. Most of them are as trivial as she makes them out to be. Some of them are less so – but she knows that’s all the more reason why she opts to let them stay unwritten, locked inside a drawer of what-ifs. But with him coming back home, at least for the time being, she might be able to gather enough courage to change that. She hopes so, at least.

She has, of course, arrived early, so she manages to secure a waiting spot relatively near to the windows, affording her the best view of the airport’s comings and goings. When the telltale noises of docking warships begin to rumble through the building, her shift in attention is immediate. The ships descend with a heavy sound onto the ground. Wolf is one of the first people to exit, and she’s quick to wave at him from the crowd. She isn’t that tall yet – Aunt keeps assuring her she has more chance to grow than he does – so the chances are slim, but she hopes he sees her.

It’s only after they exchange greetings and smiles and hugs that Evangeline notices the man standing next to him for the first time. When she does, what instantly comes to mind is how impossible it is for her to not have noticed him in the first place (and she isn’t just referring to his eyes). He has the sort of presence that is unmistakably there – like Wolf’s in definition, but at the same time completely unlike it in every other respect. Like a black hole in comparison to the sun. Though she doesn’t act on it, she feels the urge to take a step back, to take caution, without knowing why.

She suddenly feels self-conscious wearing her dress, for some reason. Something adolescent, like a sense of not belonging, and she straightens, runs an absent hand through her hair when she thinks his hard gaze veers to meet hers – even when she thinks it probably didn’t – instead of smiling politely like she realizes she should have. Then she looks away, her eyes finding her reflection on the floor, and the moment of unease is lost, dissolving as quickly as it had formed.

She looks up again and the man is talking to Wolf. They don’t seem unfamiliar with each other; momentarily, she wonders if she’d overlooked a mention or two made of him in any of the letters she’s received. She can’t remember. She regrets not having paid more attention.

Even though he isn’t smiling, there’s a certain degree of softness to his expression she’s sure hadn’t been there before. It disappears the moment she blinks, before she can manage to confirm its reality. Like the light had tricked her into seeing it. Not quite a smile, but almost there, maybe. If she’d held her gaze longer – if she’d forgotten staring was rude – she might’ve been able to catch it.

Wolf’s hand on her shoulder is what leads her astray from her thoughts. His introduction of her registers belatedly, and she’s hasty to accept when the man reaches out his hand for her to shake. Her smile falters a little when he doesn’t return it, but she brushes it off easily enough. She’s dealt with worse people before. He parts ways in opposite directions soon after. Her hand stays cowering at her side instead of holding onto Wolf’s as they walk side-by-side outside, and it’s only by the time they’ve climbed into a taxi that Evangeline realizes she hadn’t quite caught his friend’s name. So she asks, a bit sheepishly.

Reuenthal. Even after she tries pronouncing it in her head, she can’t make the syllables roll out as smoothly as Wolf could, effortless and bright in that familiar way, like he’s known him for years and years now even though she knows that’s not the case. Instead it sounds stilted and foreign whispered out of her mouth, like a strange feeling that settles in the back of her throat she can’t quite put her finger on. She figures the resulting unease must’ve shown on her face, because he turns to her, asks her what’s wrong. And as she smiles and chirps a short, reassuring “nothing,” she asks herself if she’s being fair by deciding this is yet another thing she ought to keep hidden away from him.

Evangeline looks to the window, watches the rush of the city, and doesn’t answer herself. Not today, and not ten years from now, either. Though of course, she’d have no way of knowing this.

**Author's Note:**

> can someone help me make roieva (their tentative ship name) a thing


End file.
